Smoke and Spices
by sky.guinalie
Summary: They don't have powers, and they're not mutants. They're pirates, and those who hunt pirates. Alternate universe where Logan is the captain of a royal ship trying to rescue Scott, his first mate, from the Acolytes, who are pirates. Rogue is the resident fortune teller and Kurt is the resident watchman, with Remy as a charming villain. Scott/Remy, Kitty/Kurt
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Logan stood at the prow of his ship. It was beautiful, enormous, and loyal to all those it carried. He looked out over the water, shielding his eyes from the glare that bounced off its surface. The whole sea was glowing orange due to the sunset. It was stunning, as if the whole thing had caught fire. But he wasn't in the mood to appreciate it. All its glory was lost to him, and he was focusing all his attention on one thing. He'd lost a crew member recently, and he was going to get the man back if it was the last thing he did. No one threatened him, or his ship, or the people on it. Not while he was captain.

He thought about the missing crewman. Scott.

Scott was too young to be dead, Logan wouldn't accept it. The guy was in line to be captain, too. A wonderful, sturdy first mate. He was always optimistic, keeping the crew's spirits up, ready to do good. And he was gone.

"Captain!"

Logan snapped out of his thoughts and turned to face Katherine, whom the other crewmates fondly called Kitty. "Yes, Lieutenant."

"Evan found something below deck, thought you might want to take a look," Kitty said, gesturing to the stairs.

"Might I?" Logan replied. He wasn't really in the mood for their antics right now.

Kitty nodded, looking grave. "It's left from… they left it," she said vaguely.

But Logan knew all he needed to. "Lead the way," he commanded, and they left the deck.

Upon reaching the room where Evan was, Logan found a few other crewmates already gathered around. "Evan? What've you got?"

Evan turned, a grim expression on his face. He held out his hand. Between two of his fingers was a single playing card, smudged with blood. An ace of hearts.

Logan clenched his jaw. "How did we let this happen?"

"Scott?" asked Evan. He was one of the youngest on the ship, and he was full of energy. If anyone was to act rashly, it would be him.

Logan tried to hide his anger so as not to spark anything unwanted in the young one. "Any of this, all of this pirate shit. Charles entrusted me with the _Blackbird_ so I could stop this sort of stuff, not become another victim. We're going to get Scott back. And then I'm personally going to run that dirt-worth captain through." Hiding any emotions wasn't his strong suit.

Evan's eyebrows lowered. "I'm with you, Captain. I want to see that card flipping scumbag dead."

Standing off to the side, Kitty narrowed her eyes. She hated pirates as much as the rest of them, but she also hated violence, and when she signed on to the crew she wasn't signing up for a revenge mission. And yet, now she felt anger, almost will to hurt someone, because she'd become attached to the crew and she wasn't about to let someone just take one of them and get away with it.

The door opened. Jean stepped in. Even in the dim lighting, it was easy to see that she'd been crying again. Her eyes were rimmed with red and there were still tears clumped in her long eyelashes, clogging her vision. "Got a plan?" Her voice was rough, and there was none of her usual sympathy showing in her face.

"Jean, I think it's best you sit this one out," Logan said, turning to face her. She was too emotional, and that would weaken her. Another loss wasn't what he wanted out of the rescue.

"No." She gritted her teeth. "I'm not going to- you can't expect me to wait down below while you go get Scott back. I want that captain's blood on my hands, I want to hear his last words." Her voice was shaking and her face was a mask of stone cold fury.

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew that Jean had been close to Scott, that they'd grown up together. He wasn't about to get in her way. "Can possibly I stop you?"

She shook her head briefly, her lips pressed together. "Sorry, Logan."

"No apology necessary. You deserve this more than any of us, I just didn't want you getting hurt." Logan turned, climbing the stairs back to the deck. While they were below, night had fallen. The moon reflected off the water, leaving a silver stripe in the blackness. He looked out into the dark, as if he could see the pirates right in front of him. "We're coming for you, Scott. We're coming."

"Good morning. Or should I say _bonne nuit_? You've been out a while, it's dark now."

Scott slowly opened his eyes, trying to shake off the water he'd just been doused in and groggily realizing he'd been tied up. He tried to focus his eyes, despite his headache, on the man in front of him.

"I'll give you a minute, you've certainly been through the mill."

Scott gritted his teeth. "You're a pirate."

The man laughed one time, a scorning chuckle. "Bright one, eh?"

"You're their captain," Scott continued, ignoring the rude comment.

"Right again," muttered the man, raising his voice in sarcastic surprise.

"You're infamous, Logan was tracking you down," added Scott, piecing together a profile on the man. "Everyone knows of you. Everyone fears you, either that or they worship you. You're the prince of thieves, the pirate king."

"I'm not letting you out just on flattery, I'll have you know," the captain said, under his breath.

Scott gritted his teeth, but let the comment roll off. "It's not flattery, that's nothing to be proud of. No one knows your name, not the people I've talked to. But they give you their own. Do you know what they call you?"

The man turned, from where he'd been looking out through the top of the brig, a grating leading to the deck. He crouched down so that he was at eye level with Scott, who'd been chained to the wall. "What do they call me, _cher_?"

The pirate captain smelled like exotic spices; cumin, cinnamon, cayenne, nutmeg; and Scott tried to push himself away but found the wall at his back. "Gambit," he spat. "They call you Gambit."

"I know," the captain whispered. "And do you know why?"

"Cards," Scott replied, forcing the word out through clenched jaws. "You leave cards."

"Right again," murmured the captain, leaning even closer.

Scott felt his heart rate pick up. He really didn't want to be hurt, not right now, not when he couldn't fight back. He was a bit dizzy from dehydration, and the dark, smoky room mixed with the pirate's ethnic perfume of spices made for a thick, heavy atmosphere to think in. All he knew was that something bad was going to happen. Maybe he'd be killed right now.

But no. The captain reached into his coat and brought out a card. King of hearts. He held it up. "Whenever I take a ship, I leave one of these. So that when her majesty's fleet shows up and finds her, they know it's my doing. I left her captainless. What do you think?"

It hurt to look anywhere but straight forwards, and now, staring at the pirate's eyes, Scott was noticing something odd about them. He couldn't quite see it in the dark, however, and it only added to the confusion building in his head.

The captain slowly ran the card down his captive's cheek. "Because I think it's brilliant." He abruptly stood, taking his spices swirling up with him. "Sleep while you've got time, _mon amour_. You'll need it." He made as if to leave the brig, but paused in the doorway, tilting his head back towards his prisoner. "My name? My real name? Remy LeBeau. In case you were wondering."

And he was gone.

Scott leaned his head back against the wall, trying to get the smoke and spices out of his head. The captain, LeBeau, had no regards for personal space, and his closeness had made Scott's skin crawl. It was as if he'd stared death in the face. It was just an overall confusing experience. The dark hadn't helped, and neither had Remy's mixing of languages. Scott didn't know much French, but Remy'd said 'mon amour', which translated to 'my love'. Scott ground his teeth together. He wasn't Remy's anything. Anything but prisoner. He sighed and closed his eyes, taking Remy's advice and getting some sleep.

When Scott woke up, it was light out. His headache was gone, and he felt so much better than he had last night. He tried to get up, but the shackles held fast. Right. He heard a clunking and looked up to see someone coming down the stairs to the brig.

It was an enormous man, his body so tightly packed with muscle that he looked as solid as brick. his hair was cropped short and an earing glinted in one ear. Typical pirate. In his hand was a mug of water. "Dammit," he said. His voice was much softer and more gentle sounding that one would picture from his form. "I wanted to pour this on you."

"Not today," Scott muttered, glaring up at the man.

"So. Remy came down to see you last night, eh?" the pirate asked.

Scott nodded.

The man sighed. "What'd he say?"

"Uh… he was showing off. Lots of bragging and cards and French," Scott replied, tilting his head to the side and wincing as his neck cracked.

A chuckle. "Sounds like him alright. I'm Piotr, Remy's first mate."

"Scott," Scott returned. It briefly occurred to him that he was now on first name terms with the first mate of the most notorious pirate to ever sail the seas, but he brushed it off. He was going to need help if he was going to survive until Logan arrived.

Piotr turned to go. "Nice meeting you, Scott." He flung the water over the prisoner.

Scott gasped as the icy ocean water drenched him.

"Sorry," Piotr said, his voice apologetic. "I was really looking forwards to doing that." He called up to the deck. "Captain! He's awake!"

With a clatter, Remy was next to Piotr on the stairs. "So he is. Leave him to me now, Piotr. Get the Maximoffs up, will you?"

Piotr nodded. "Yes, Captain." He ran up the stairs, his footsteps soon pounding the deck above them.

Remy walked into the brig. "Sleep well, _cher_?"

" _Blackbird_ will find you," Scott threatened. "And her captain won't rest until your blood stains the water from here to England."

"Scary." Remy grimaced sarcastically, then dropped the face and his playful manner. "Listen, _bien aimé_. Your captain can hunt me down his whole life, for all I care. Hell, he can even find me. _Je ne me soucie pas_. It won't change the fact that by the time he reaches me, you won't want to go back to him."

"You don't know anything about what I'll want," Scott yelled, his voice hoarse from lack of water. He was about to keep going, when, in a flash of anger and danger, the captain was kneeling and looking him in the eye.

Remy's hand was knotted in his captive's shirt and he was gritting his teeth. "Don't talk to me like that. You are in my ship, at my mercy. You don't want to know what I, you captain, can do to you."

"You're not my captain," Scott muttered, trying to ram his shoulder into Remy.

The captain put a hand on both of his prisoner's shoulders and slammed him back into the wall. "Do not talk to me," he whispered, his voice stone cold and deadly.

"I won't do what you say," Scott said firmly. "You won't hurt me."

"You don't know anything," spat Remy, drawing a dagger. He regarded it, as if wondering why he had it. Then he flung it to the ground and struck Scott hard across the face.

Scott's shoulder wrenched at its socket, torn between staying where it was shackled to the wall and following his face as he turned with the force of impact. He looked up at Remy. "The more you hurt me now, the more I'll hurt you when Logan shows up and takes this miserable ship."

Remy regarded the man in front of him with mild interest, raking his eyes up and down the man's body. Then, he leaned forwards, roughly pressing his mouth to Scott's.

Scott tilted his head down, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead against the captain's. "What the hell?" He looked into Remy's eyes, which were visible now in the light. They were black, all black, with a circle of red for an iris.

Leaning closer, Remy made sure not only were their foreheads touching, but their noses were nearly side by side and their mouths were so close they could taste the other's breath. "What do you mean, what the hell?"

"You can't do that," Scott whispered, unable to open his eyes wider than the half-closed state they were in at the moment.

Remy kissed him again, much more gently this time. Then he stood, and, with a look that was almost sad, said, "Enjoy waiting for your Logan, _cherí_ ," and walked up to the deck.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kitty stood up in the crowsnest, looking out over the vast, endless misty sea. "I just have a bad feeling about this. I mean, I trust Logan to make the right choice, and he's a brilliant captain and all, but I can't shake the feeling we're going to end up hurt." She turned to the watchman, Kurt.

"Logan knows what he's doing," he said, his accent heavy and hard to decipher over the rushing wind. "We've taken on pirates before."

Kitty nodded, trying to reassure herself. "I know, but this is Gambit we're talking about. The most notorious pirate ever. I don't think we're… I don't think we're ready."

"We're ready," Kurt said firmly. He offered her a hand. "Let's get down, it's Evan's turn to look out."

Allowing herself a small smile, Kitty took his hand. She loved when he did this.

Kurt helped her down off of the platform, moving his hand from hers to around her waist. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Kitty said, laughing.

Kurt smiled, and leapt from the platform, holding her close to his side. The misty sea air rushed by them, and just when Kitty thought they were surely going to die this time, he snatched a nearby rope. That started a complicated series of acrobatic twirls and jumps, from rope to rope, in and out of the rigging, until, as if in slow motion, he took a rope that glided them to the deck. Once their feet were on the ground, he let go of the rope and of Kitty.

She stumbled a bit, catching her breath. "I can never quite figure out how you do that, you know."

"Magic," Kurt replied, throwing her a wink. "See, you do that wonderfully. You know where to lean your weight, just on instinct. If you can do that, Gambit will be easy." He walked away, going to tell Evan to take his turn. "Trust your instincts, Kitty," he called back over his shoulder. "They're the strongest thing we've got on our side this time around."

Kitty watched as he disappeared from view below deck. She wished she felt as surely about things as he did. She turned to go to her cabin and ran straight into Logan. "Sorry, Captain."

"S'alright, half pint," Logan returned in his gruff manner. "Watch where you're going, eh?"

Kitty nodded. She began walking off.

"Kitty," Logan called. "I know you're feeling off about this."

She turned and ran back to him. "Logan, I don't know what's going on. I just know that we can't do this, he's way better than us. We're going to-" She paused, looking up at him briefly. "We're going to die."

"Listen, girl," Logan said, bending a bit to be at eye level with her. "Do you know why we're going to beat him?"

Kitty shook her head.

"Do you know why we're going to get Scott back?"

Again, a shake. "Tell me, Captain."

"Because we're united," Logan said, looking her in the eyes with determination. "We care for each other and love one another, and we will always have each other's backs, no matter what may happen to us. We can always count on one another to be there for us. We're family. And Gambit? His crew is naught but slaves. When it comes down to it, he'd rather push them overboard than share something out with them. They're nothing close to what a crew should be to their captain, and that's his downfall. When the time comes, we'll be standing together and he'll be standing alone. You can count on that, half pint."

Kitty was smiling. First Kurt's, now Logan's determination and surety seemed to be flooding into her. "Thanks, Logan."

He nodded, and walked off.

Her smile broadened. They were together. Gambit was alone.

It was nighttime, and Captain Remy LeBeau sat by a fire in a cauldron on deck. Around him was his crew, smiling and laughing and exchanging stories. He sighed, looking around at the men and women with which he'd been sailing for all these years. He knew Logan would eventually come, and he knew that it would be the hardest fight he'd ever fight. But he also know that this crew would stand by him, till the end.

"Captain?" Wanda Maximoff was looking over the fire at him. The captain before him had picked her and her twin brother, Pietro, up when they were small children, orphaned by a raid. They had grown up alongside Remy.

He pulled himself back to the present moment. "Yes, _cher_?"

"I was wondering- I just- we want to know what the prisoner is like. The crew do," she said, waving a bit of smoke away with her hand and simultaneously gesturing to the people seated around her.

"Right," Remy said, sitting up a little straighter. "His name is Scott, he's incredibly arrogant, and by the end of a month there'll be no doubt in his mind that we're doing the right thing and that we're the ones to lend allegiance to."

Wanda smiled. "Good."

"Remy," John said, leaning out to see his captain's face. He was a young crewmate, full of ambition and anger towards authority. "Tell us a story, right?"

Remy nodded. "Right." And he begun one of his most epic sagas, not all of which was exactly true. The crew knew this, most of them had been there, but they loved the stories he wove, and he had such a knack for telling them that it left the crew captivated for most of the night.

Below deck, Scott let out a sigh. The gathering above his head was keeping him awake. It had been three days and he'd yet to figure the captain out. He thought of his own captain, Logan, and where the _Blackbird_ was at the moment. Sailing the seas, looking for him. He chuckled. He missed them so much. Young Evan, always ready to spring into action. Kitty, full of sense and good judgement and a pistol aim that never missed. Kurt, who could be counted on to cheer people up when they felt down, and sang the crewmates with nightmares back to sleep, lulling them with Germanic hymns. Rogue, with her sharp tongue and witty strategy. Logan, the best captain to ever sail a ship 'cross the sea. Jean. His best friend, Jean, who was always there for him, with him right down the line. What he wouldn't give to be with them right now.

Hours passed, and the fire above deck was put out. Scott was closing his eyes, finally ready to sleep, when light, steady footsteps tread down the stairs. He tilted his head forwards, trying to peer through the gloom.

" _Bonne nuit, cherí_."

"Evening, Remy," Scott replied, pushing away the sleepiness that had begun to set in. "What do you want?"

"I want you to know that tomorrow I'm letting you go," Remy said.

Scott's eyes widened, then narrowed quickly. Something wasn't right.

"I mean, you'll still be in the brig, of course," continued the captain. "But no more shackles. Have a nice sleep, _mon amour_."

After he'd gone, Scott could still smell cinnamon.

Rogue awoke in the middle of the night, gasping for breath. Eyes wide with terror, she ran out onto the deck. "Logan! Someone!" Her voice was rough, and it cracked from recent sleep.

In the blink of an eye, Kurt spun down from the crowsnest and took her by the arm. "Calm down," he murmured. "It's okay." He took her across the deck and sat her down on a bench, keeping his hands on her shoulders. "What did you get?"

Rogue was interesting, not your average crewmember. She wasn't a regular on a ship, and most certainly wasn't a regular on land, either. She was a fortune teller, blessed with temporary glimpses through the veil. Her talents had been noticed by Logan, before he had the _Blackbird_ and before she'd reached her tenth year, and he'd taken her in. Ever since, she'd given the crew warning of what they'd face. "I… I don't know. It's a bit of a blur, but-" She choked, holding in a sob. "Oh, Kurt, it's terrible."

"I'll get Logan," he said. "Stay right here, ja?"

Rogue nodded, wiping her eyes. "Go."

In moments, he was back. Not only did Logan accompany him, but Jean as well, and it was the latter who knelt in front of the bench with a hand on Rogue's shoulder.

"What did you see, dear?" asked Jean, smoothing the girl's hair with her other hand.

"I- I saw-" Rogue stammered, twisting up the front of her nightdress. "Commodore Stryker. I saw Stryker. He was at the head of his ship and he-" Her voice cracked. "He was firing at us."

Logan furrowed his brow. "That doesn't make sense. He's with us, he pays us to get rid of pirates for her majesty. No way in hell he'd turn on us, not like that."

"Are you absolutely sure that was what you saw?" asked Jean.

Rogue nodded firmly, rubbing her hands over her face. "I'm sure."

Logan ran to his quarters. "I'm penning a letter, get me a bird ready to take it." Once he was inside his cabin, he shut the door, lit a lamp, and pulled out his quill and ink. Stretching out a roll of paper on his desk, he began.

" _To Commodore William Stryker, his majesty's fleet._

 _What are the fleet's actions insofar against the pirate Gambit? I've notified you of the kidnapping of my first mate, Mr. Summers, at the hands of the very same band of thieves, I believe? If indeed, you know that they are a very prominent threat somewhere in the near-immediate area. Can the Blackbird offer you help in any way to track down this criminal?_

 _I feel obliged to help her majesty's good cause._

 _Sincerely, Cpt. Logan Howlett_."

Logan looked over the short message, making sure it didn't seem too suspicious or offensive. When he was sure it was polite and decent, he brought it out on deck.

It had begun to rain, the skies opening up and sending sloughs of it into the sea.

Evan stood on deck, a cloak half shielding him against the onslaught. He held up a carrier pigeon, one trained navaly and bound to find Stryker's ships, wherever they may be. With a nod, he passed the bird to his captain.

Tying the letter about the bird's leg and casting it into the inclement skies, Logan looked up, wondering how his time would work itself out. Would he reach Gambit before Stryker reached him? Would they find the pirate together, but then Stryker would turn on him? Had, in fact, Rogue's vision been wrong? Would they be alright? He turned back to his cabin, stumping out of the rain. He had a lot to pray for.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Time sped by, days and nights flashing along as though they were escaping a foe. The crew got more and more friendly towards Scott, and occasionally went down to play dice or such with him. Remy visited nearly once a day, usually after the crew had gone to sleep, and the days he didn't, Scott found himself longing for the familiar cinnamony scent. He knew that this was Stockholm's Syndrome, but as days and nights piled up he felt more and more comfortable with the captain and crew.

At first, the crew were wary of him save Piotr, but as time wore on they began to accept him as one of their own. Suddenly, the Maximoffs would regularly take breakfast with him, telling him stories of their past. Then John began teaching him rope tricks, showing him the ins and outs of pirate knot tying.

There was change with Remy as well. He'd stay for longer, first of all, and he'd started to treat Scott more and more like an equal.

Sometimes he'd tell long stories of his exploits as a pirate, embellishing the details like gold furnishing on a pistol. It seemed so glorified, the swirling smoke of Singapore, the riches of India, the depravity of Tortuga. Scott almost wanted to see it all himself. And sometimes Remy'd ask him about his old crew, about the things they did, the pirates they tracked down. Occasionally during one of these recountings, Scott found Remy flinching here and there as he mentioned the pirates they'd found. He realized that Remy must've known some of them, or at least been acquainted. He was careful to stop, or change the direction the story was going then. Often, he'd recollect fond memories of his old crewmates, their antics. This always seemed to amuse the captain. During these storytelling nights, Remy'd made a habit of leaning over in the middle of a tale and pressing a kiss to Scott's forehead or temple. And Scott, placing all blame on Stockholm's, didn't mind at all.

One night, Remy came clattering down the stairs at a very late hour. "Two-month anniversary," he said, unlocking the brig. "Two months ago today, my men kidnapped you."

"And?" Scott said, waiting for the captain to come in and tell a story.

"And I trust you," Remy finished, taking his captive by the arm and leading him up the stairs to the deck.

In all of Scott's time on board, he'd never left the brig. For the first time in months, he breathed fresh, crisp sea air. He felt a laugh bubbling up inside of him. "I can't believe this."

"Believe it, _cher_ ," said Remy, leaning against the side of the ship and gazing out at the stars.

Scott joined him there, looking down at the water before peering over at the captain.

"I'm sorry I hit you," Remy murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"I'm sorry I yelled," replied Scott.

"You had the right to yell, I'd just kidnapped you," Remy continued, his voice flowing like a stream over stones and beginning to pick up a joking tone.

"You had the right to hit me, it's just what pirates do," countered Scott, a smile spreading across his face.

"But, see, I'm sure you've hit your fair share of no-good thieve-y types. Does that make you a pirate?"

"And you, you spared my life. Does that make you not?"

They went on like this, their voices up and down in playful, back-and-forth banter. The moon shined brighter than it ever had and the cold dark air surrounded them, pressing in on them like a deathly blanket.

After a bit, the conversation had died down and they both leaned out over the water, looking into the night.

"You know, Jean once told me that stars were the eyes of the dark," Scott murmured, watching the foggy puffs his breath made in the cold.

"Did she," replied Remy, under his breath. It wasn't a question, and the way he said it made it obvious that he was very tired.

"Should I go back?" asked Scott. He realized that he was placing himself back in captivity by doing so, but it seemed the appropriate thing to say.

"Hm?" Remy looked over at the captive, barely keeping his uncanny eyes open.

Scott felt himself smile. He gently kissed the captain's half-open mouth and walked away, back to the brig. "Goodnight, Remy."

Scott woke up the following morning to find the door to the brig open, and sunlight streaming down the stairs, above which the busy feet of the crew went back and forth. With a great noise, Piotr stomped down the stairs with a bucket of water. This tradition had been long since abandoned, and Scott was confused as to what was going on. "Piotr?"

"Aye?" the first mate replied.

"Are you going to…" Scott gestured to the bucket.

Piotr raised his eyebrows. "Right! Here y'are." He handed it to the captive.

Scott took it, confused. "What am I-?"

"Throw it over me!" Piotr exclaimed. "Payback! You've got to."

Chuckling, Scott dumped the water on Piotr's head. "Alright."

Piotr smiled, water running down his face. He took the bucket. "Welcome to the crew, Mr. Summers."

"Wait. Are you-" Scott stopped himself. In no way could this be happening. He'd been kidnapped, held hostage for two months, and now this?

Piotr nodded, his smile stretching across his whole face. He held out a hand and gestured to the stairs.

Scott ascended, looking round at the deck. It was different than it'd been last night. Now it was bustling with activity. The Maximoff twins were making adjustments to the sails, John was holding the wheel for Piotr, and a dark-haired girl Scott didn't recognize was up in the crowsnest. And Remy.

Remy was standing on the edge of the ship, grabbing on to a bit of rigging for support. He turned, his strange eyes glinting in the sunlight. "Mr. Summers!" He grinned. "Kind of you to join us." He reached a hand back.

Scott took it, and let himself be pulled up onto the ship's wall next to the captain.

Remy yanked the former prisoner against him, pressing their bodies together. "How's it feel to be free?" he asked, looking out at the vast horizon.

Scanning the shimmering waves below them, Scott sighed, breathing in the fresh air. "Wonderful," he replied. He knew that the captain hadn't meant out of the brig. He'd meant truly free, no rules or law or anything holding you to the evolving world, keeping you in the perfection of the passing age. To be a pirate.

Chuckling, Remy pressed a kiss to Scott's cheekbone. "Good," he whispered.

"Captain, you hopeless romantic you, cut him a break," the girl called from the crowsnest. She was peeking out and looking down at them. "He's only just woken up."

Remy rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that tone, Lee," he yelled up. Then he turned his head so his mouth was near Scott's ear. "But… not entirely hopeless, right?"

Scott laughed. "A little bit not hopeless, yeah."

"Good, just checking," Remy said, before raising his voice to the crew. "What are we doing today?"

Nobody knew, and a mumbling went through them.

"Don't know?" yelled Remy jumping down from the wall onto the deck. "Do you know what we're not going to do today?"

This time, the crew gave a more definite, "No, sir!"

A grin spread across Remy's face. "We're not going to get caught. We're not going to be stopped. We are going to hold onto our ways, our time. Aye?"

A resounding, thunderous, "Aye!" poured from the crew in return.

"And that damned Stryker can just try and stop me," Remy murmured to himself.

During Remy's speech thing, Scott's eyes had been fading things in and out of focus. When he'd tried to clear the blurriness, a sharp pain had sprung through his head. And it didn't go away. The breeze seemed to stop, and everything was too warm. His vision blurred more violently, and he was so dizzy, so terribly dizzy, standing up there on the ship's wall.

"Captain!" yelled Pietro Maximoff, just seconds after they heard the splash.

Remy whirled around, seeing the empty rigging and the space where Scott had stood. "He's fallen."

Piotr went to grab rope. "I could-"

"No!" commanded Remy, his voice harsh. He ran towards the edge of the ship, leapt up onto the wall, and flung himself off into the air, forming his movement into a perfect dive. The water was colder than he'd expected and the salt stung his eyes as he propelled himself downwards into the gloom. Scott's limp form was just barely visible, sinking down and down faster than Remy himself could swim. Suddenly, determination seized him and he kicked out harder until he caught the edge of Scott's sleeve.

Holding on as if to a lifeline, Remy pulled Scott to him and began to kick up to the surface. His lungs were burning and his vision was threatening to close in on him. His muscles stung from lack of oxygen and his body seemed ready to give up on him. Just when he knew he couldn't make it any further, his head broke the surface.

Choking out water, he gasped and pulled air into his lungs. He made sure Scott's head was above the water and pushed down the pangs of fear shooting through him.

"Captain, here!" John threw down a rope with a sort of harness fastened at the end, a loop in which to put one's foot.

Remy pulled it under the water and got his foot into it with one hand, the other holding Scott.

At a signal from the captain, Piotr began pulling them up.

Remy hung onto the rope for dear life, his whole body shaking like crazy. He couldn't bring himself to look at Scott's face.

Putting all of his miraculous strength to work, Piotr hauled them up on deck. When his captain collapsed on the wooden ground, he knelt by the two men. "Remy? You alright?"

Remy pushed himself up, his arms shivering. "Fine. Get him inside, put him on my bed." He watched Piotr carry Scott away until Jubilation, the lookout woman, helped him up.

The Maximoffs flitted nervously back and forth, watching the action, and John was untying and coiling up the rope.

"Wanda," Remy said, accepting the blanket her twin had just handed him. "Wake him up. Figure out what happened and make sure it doesn't happen again."

"I'm no miracle worker, Captain, I just know how to look after ailments," she replied, already heading for the cabin.

"I know, and that's all I'm asking of you," Remy said, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders.

"Where are we even going anymore?" Jean asked, shading her eyes from the sun and standing next to the captain by the wheel.

"We're finding him." Logan's voice was gruff and he didn't look at her.

Jean looked at her boots. "Still?" she replied quietly.

"We're finding him," he repeated.

"Are we really, Logan?" she said loudly, her voice a bit hysterical as she looked him in the eyes for the first time since they began talking. "Are we really finding him? Because it's been months and we haven't even got a lead. He could be halfway across the world, in Singapore, locked up. He could've been sold as a slave, he could've been-" She stopped, taking a shaky breath. "He could be dead. And where are we going to find him if we don't even know where to look?

Logan let the question hang in the air. He knew that she was right, and that all of the crew was thinking the way she was. Rogue still trusted him and stood by him, and would for a long time, but how long until everyone else had had enough? He was trying as hard as he could and nothing was coming of it. Maybe Scott really was gone. And besides that there was the whole Stryker problem to worry over. The Commodore hadn't sent a reply to Logan's letter, and although there was a possibility that it couldn't have arrived yet, Logan was beginning to doubt it. "Jean, please. I can't look any harder than I already am. I want him back just as much as you do, I promise."

"You can promise that you want him, but can you promise that you'll get him?" She turned her back and walked away.

Logan let out a sigh, leaning his head against the wheel. He had to do something, and fast, to keep them with him. "God dammit," he muttered to himself, and flung the wheel around. "We're headed to Singapore!"

Evan ran up to him. "Captain, why?"

"Someone there will know something," Logan said firmly.

"Right," Evan replied, saluting. "You lot!" he called to the crew. "We're off to Singapore!"

They all slowly turned, to look at Logan. He'd been so lethargic, so nonchalant yet worried, so lacking action, that they had feared for him. But now they saw him, their captain, as he once had been. The wind through his hair, a glint in his eye, and a determined, sure smile across his face. Their days of doubting him were over. A cheer rose up from among them. They were finally going to end their search.

And Logan, looking over the crew, the family he knew and loved, felt his confidence restored as well. And, right when he thought the day couldn't get any better, he saw Jean. Her eyes were still sad, but there was a smile playing about her lips, telling him that she believed in him. He laughed, hands firmly gripping the wheel. Singapore awaited.

Scott's eyes slowly fluttered open. Everything was dark except for several warm orange glows around the room that he reasoned to be candles. Slowly, things fell into focus. He didn't recognize the room he was in, but it was beautiful, and the bed he was on was soft and covered in velvet. He tried to sit up, but a pair of hands pushed him back down. He glanced around, but he couldn't see anyone and he began to panic.

"Scott. Scott, can you hear me?" Wanda Maximoff stepped into his line of vision.

He sighed, letting his heart rate slow down to normal. "Wanda. What-"

"Don't ask questions, okay? You fell quite a ways," she said, taking a case down from a shelf on the wall. "You've been out for hours, it's dark. What was the last thing you remember?"

Scott tried to think. "Remy… he was talking to the crew, and then- then I couldn't see straight and I fell from the edge of the ship. I think I passed out before I hit the water."

"Well, you didn't lose any immediate memories, that's good," Wanda murmured, almost to herself as she extracted from the case a strange little flute. It had intricate carvings decorating its outer wood, and it gleamed in the candlelight. "The Captain dove in after you and pulled you out. Piotr got you two up onto the deck and I've been with you since. I know what happened to you, but…"

"What?" asked Scott, feeling nervous.

"But it's pretty bad and I'm not sure you want to hear it," Wanda finished, polishing the flute on her dress.

He looked up at her. "Wanda, tell me. Please."

She sighed. "Something… happened to you. I mean, obviously, but do you know how since you got onto the ship, you've always been in the brig, or you've been out at nighttime?"

Scott squinted his eyes, thinking about it. "I… I guess I haven't, really…"

"Right, you haven't seen sunlight, real light, in a long time. Til this morning. What I've figured is that something happened, and now you're sensitive to it. Too sensitive. You'll pass out," Wanda said softly. "I'm sorry, Scott, I can't do anything about it."

"What do I do?" Scott asked, hearing his voice crack. "I- do I- do I just stay in the dark forever? How can I fix it?" He knew he was hyperventilating, but it didn't matter.

"Shh. It'll be okay," she said. "Calm down. I have a solution to prevent you from fainting again, but I think you need rest."

"Rest?" he repeated weakly.

"Just listen," she whispered, and put the flute up to her lips.

The sound that came out was unlike anything he'd ever heard. Its tone was perfect and the notes that came out were breathy and haunting. It had such a wild, windy quality that it was exactly what sailing should sound like. The melody skipped up and down the minor scales, every note more eerie than the last.

And slowly, unbidden, unwanted, memories began to flow into Scott's mind. At first, he couldn't place them. A dark room, his own wet shirt sticking to his chest, blood on his face. There was a familiar voice, foreign words. Then he slowly started to piece together what these were from. A powerful, enticing scent, so utterly different than anything Scott had been exposed to previously, comprised of cinnamon and cumin, cayenne and nutmeg, seawater and smoke. The memories were of his first night on the ship.

Bit by bit he slipped away into sleep, the music lulling him off and the memory of Remy's cinnamony smell making him feel safe. The velvet of the blankets around him was soft against his skin and his headache that was so prevalent before Wanda had started playing was fading away, leaving him to dream.


End file.
